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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27685481">The Black Unicorn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriWhitedeer/pseuds/OriWhitedeer'>OriWhitedeer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Duskwight Elezen (Final Fantasy XIV), Elezen (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Final Fantasy XIV - Freeform, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:35:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27685481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriWhitedeer/pseuds/OriWhitedeer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Simone Oleander, the shy and reluctant leading man in his wife's 'loosely based on their true story' novel "The Black Unicorn," goes to visit a wounded Maelstrom soldier on behalf of a close friend. Charged with entertaining the bedridden Au Ri man and mega-fan of his wife's novel, Simone finds himself on an unexpected journey through bitter memories, trauma, and navigating a way forward despite the uncomfortable mythology that surrounds him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elezen Characters (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prelude in Grey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p>
<p>Another morning came over the chilled horizon, piercing through the spent clouds that drifted, unable to drop another payload of powder over the well-bombarded city state of Ishgard. Among the early birds and bemoaning morning-shifters stumbling through the fresh-frozen snow, a dark-coated and ebon-skinned figure seemed to float among them with singular purpose. His blizzard-hued, well-styled mane was topped with a rich indigo hat that would give even the most affluent nobleman pause.</p>
<p>Some well-dressed citizens gave comment on his ‘goobue-like’ height and rigid movements, other ragged rabble merely shook their heads and let their thoughts be dragged away in his wake. Still others, who knew the personage by name could do nothing but offer silent judgement, particularly at the sight of a small, tarnished silver unicorn pinned at his lapel. The miasma of unseen ill-wishes was a familiar fog in his mind’s eye, but despite navigating its throws for over two decades, it seemed to cause his pace to drag all the same.</p>
<p>“You’re doing this for her, for her, doing it for her, almost there,” the man mumbled to himself reassuringly as one of his shaking hands brought a well-worn silk handkerchief to his sweating brow.</p>
<p>The man known among Ishgardian nobles and nobodies alike as ‘Simone de Oleander’, held his breath and counted the speeding steps until he reached his destination. Simone took a moment in the doorway to gather himself and slow his racing pulse before donning a small smile and entering the infirmary for a scheduled visit.</p>
<p>The sound of fluttering papers and excited whispers caused Simone’s whole form to tense for a moment before his pale-rose eyes caught sight of a gaggle of giggling nurses. The oldest among them could pass for his grandmother, the youngest seemed barely older than his second son of 14 summers, but the pack smiled and whispered like school girls at the sight of him, an act that made his forced smile a little more natural.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” Simone spoke barely above a whisper. The gaggle greeted him warmly before being shoo’d to get back to their duties by one of the on-call chirurgeons. The gentleman rolled his eyes before swaggering closer with a confident flick in his fluffy tail to comment on the nurses’ lack of decorum before bringing up a subject that made Simone squirm.</p>
<p>“...I mean, as if that lot could really appreciate your wife’s deft nuance and mastery of language, I mean seriously — chapter 27 gave me chills, CHILLS!” He informed with his head held high, as if expecting to be pet for his intellectual superiority. Simone gave a polite nod and rehearsed laugh.</p>
<p>“Ah-hah, yes. She gets that a lot, especially for that chapter,” Simone cleared his throat, “So how is the patient today, the Captain?” The change in topic seemed to deflate the chirurgeon’s puffed spirits, as he shrugged and mumbled something that sounded like “stable and awake.” Simone could see the jealousy in the miqo’te as if the word were painted on his face. He tipped his hat in thanks before turning to travel to a certain curtain. When Simone arrived the sight and scent of fresh-delivered Gridanian wildflowers brought a small, nostalgic sensation as the sound of quiet whispers quickly brought him back to the moment.</p>
<p>Simone could hear the quiet uttering coming from behind the taupe curtain of the corner room, a young woman and gentleman laughed between colorful accounts of mundane occurrences from the day before. He recognized the young auri woman’s voice as that of his former ward and current friend, Keteghoa — the gentleman abed was the handsome captain for whom she smiled and blushed the brightest. Simone’s long, pointed ears caught the sweetness in those words so painfully crafted to appear blandin both pairs of shining ebony horns.</p>
<p>He let out a small sigh, crossed his arms, and shook his head. The forced smile was replaced by a look of true amusement as the inevitable awkward goodbyes came, the stuttering, the feelings left buried beneath flesh and cloth; the heated weight of those youthful follies brought a warmth to his own chest.</p>
<p>Simone quickly ducked closer to the far wall as he heard light steps approach and scurry away. He watched as Keteghoa departed with a swinging tail and her hands on her cheeks, daring not to greet her as she darted to the exit door. Now he was alone with the many-hued wildflowers and the man waiting for him just beyond. Simone straightened up before taking a deep breath and moving to announce himself, slowly pulling back the curtain.</p>
<p>---</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Dragon and the Unicorn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>The wall chronometer collected the dropping seconds pooling between the two gentlemen as a mild tension clouded their perception. In Simone’s pale-rose gaze lay a battle-hardened, smoldering dragon dressed in soft linen. His sharp, obsidian horns curled forward, menacing and proud despite the dainty, rose-gold adornments that topped their points. Golden eyes as intense as the noon sun bore into him, causing a small stream of sweat to escape the brim of his lavish top hat.</p><p>Behind those sunny orbs lay a similar, foggy vision — not of a nervous, shy shadow whose every movement served to shrink his ever gigantesque presence in a room, but of a towering legend of literature, draped in obscuring cuts of fabric that only served to flesh out his slender ebon frame in Altan’s admiring gaze.</p><p>The mythical figure removed his hat, exposing his full-moon mane, before moving to sit. Though the smile that graced Simone’s soft features would be weak at best in any other’s sight, it sent a torrent of nervous excitement through the bed-ridden captain.</p><p>Silence bubbled up between them as the chronometer ticked on, neither moving to speak as their polite attentions rested on one another. The collecting seconds seemed to account for an eternity and likely would have continued for the rest of their visitation had a wet cough not escaped Altan’s mouth. Simone’s paternal instinct compelled him to shift forward, reaching for a small, clean handkerchief in his side pocket before offering it to the ailing xaela.</p><p>Altan accepted with a red-faced nod as he took the slightly fuzzy cloth to his face, muffling the coughs until their assault finally dried up.</p><p>“S-Sorry,” Altan managed between breaths. Simone shook his head with a sympathetic smile.</p><p>“No, don’t be. From what I hear, you’ve got a pretty nasty bug. Has Keteghoa pretty worried,” Simone informed, taking the first relaxed breath since his return to Ishgard. He managed to resist the urge to chuckle at Altan’s awkward, nervous and choppy dismissals, noting the near thrashing of his tail against the mattress.</p><p>“S-So you two speak often then? I still can’t believe she, and you — how?” Altan blurted with a sudden desire to hide under his covers just barely held in check. Simone leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in thought.</p><p>“House Haillenarte called in a favor for your project and I answered it, is the short answer. And I wouldn’t say often, but Keteghoa does seem keen to ask for advice on, ah — various things. Mostly Ishgardian customs and such. She ever wants to make a good impression; sweet as rollanberry pie, that one. Lady Haillenarte all but wants to adopt her at this point,” Simone gave a small but amused chuckle. Altan’s shoulders seemed to slack a little as his thrashing tail slowed to keep pace with the chronometer despite his racing heartbeat.</p><p>“Ah, um, yes, yes she is,” Altan coughed again but clearly not from any ill cause in Simone’s sight. He closed his eyes for a moment and offered an understanding nod with a change in conversation.</p><p>“Well gentlemanly as we are, let’s not mince words — especially if you’re unwell. I’m sure, you’ve got questions?” Simone’s words seemed to reach the imposing dragon-turned-beaming boy in the bed, as the adult xaela shifted into a stance befitting one who had seen far fewer summers.</p><p>Simone had waded through questions like Altan’s blathering barrage all before: plot point clarification, perceived timeline flaws, trope commentary, character assassination attempts, and the gushing that always came from those delightfully drowned in his wife’s prose. But as the familiar wave ebbed, Simone was struck by something unexpected. He sat there adrift for a moment, repeating Altan’s final question as if not fully grasping its meaning.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend—“ Altan quickly added, panic plain on his face.</p><p>“N-No, it’s fine that just caught me off-side, is all. Most people just assume...” Simone trailed off as he crossed his arms, trying to salvage the conversation that had gone off-script. The familiar little pang of anxiety from the depths flared up again, as his attentions receded inward, and ill thoughts began to build steam. The nasty little voice in his mind’s ear began its foul whispers:</p><p><em>“If you loose your public-face and tell him the truth, he’ll see how ordinary and common you really are. You’ll disappoint a fan, you’ll disappoint your friend, she won’t win her captain’s heart, the word will get out, sales of the book will tank, you’ll loose your job, you won’t be able to afford school for the boys, it will all be your fault; all your fault—“</em>but before the tidal wave of doubts and deprecation could come crashing down on his head, a voice pulled him out.</p><p>“Mr. Oleander, are you well?” Altan asked, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed with an outstretched hand. Altan quickly recoiled at the thought of his horrible bug potentially hopping to his idol. The look of concern on Altan’s face did not recede as Simone gave a slow, shame-filled nod.</p><p>“Y-Yes, my apologies...I came here to try and cheer up an ill fan, not cause concern. I’m truly very sorry; please I’ll do my very best to answer anything you want I just, I’m not sure where to start with that one,” Simone admitted with a new fluid texture to his formally measured speech. Altan softly smiled.</p><p>“Well consider me captain of the cheer squad. As far as all that, I’d love to hear it from the top if that’s not too err — invasive,” Altan admitted, his own voice slackening with his posture. Simone shook his head.</p><p>“Not at all, it’s not like you asked about Chapter 27...” Simone could no longer hold back the much needed laugh as mention of the infamous passage caused Altan to go beet red and sputter like a leaky airship bladder.</p><p>“I-I’d never, I mean I-I always skip that one when I re-read—“</p><p>“Sure you do,” Simone gave a small nod as he turned his gaze to think, “...so, ‘did it all really happen that way’ — the short answer is: it’s complicated.”</p><p>“...and the long answer?” Altan asked with an anticipatory flick of his long serpentine tail. Simone looked to Keteghoa’s captain and took a deep, deep breath...</p><p>---</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Candy for the Lady?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>“I have a bit of a confession to make...” Simone smiled with a sheepish, guilty gleam in his pale-rose eyes, “...I’ve never actually read the book. I’ve seen bits and pieces as Mel was writing it but I don’t know it well enough to know where to start.”</p><p>“That’s quite alright; I know the book better than I probably aught to but,” Altan reached to the brand new but already half-read leather copy Simone gifted to him just the day prior, and flipped to the first page of the prologue. “Let’s see, this covers when you two first met in the Brume —“</p><p>“Um, hold on, that isn’t where we first met; can I see that?” Simone asked with a concerned frown. Altan handed the tome over, allowing Simone to flip through the pages. The look of concern turned to one of recollection and understanding. The furrow in his brow and frown remained all the same as he quickly flipped and turned to different passages, none of which matched his memories. He continued reading in silence for a few more passages before handing the book back.</p><p>“More fiction than fact I take it?” Altan asked, examining the cover as if it were the first time he’d seen the title.</p><p>“Yes and no. What she wrote did happen it’s just...that’s not how we first met, did she just forget or was it not book-worthy?” Simone softly sighed and looked away. His blood ran cold as he crossed his arms to suppress a shiver. His leg began to shake as the bottom of his heel struck the floor repeatedly. Altan’s sharp golden eyes caught the visible discomfort in Simone’s stance as he took the tome and placed it under the bed.</p><p>“Forget the book,” Altan soothingly spoke, “That was Lady Amelia’s take on the story, I’d like to hear yours if you’re willing. If it puts you at ease, it won’t leave this room; you have my word...and Keteghoa’d have my head,” Altan offered. Simone took another breath before pulling his chair to sit closer to the bed. He leaned in and softly began the tale from the very beginning...</p><p>~*~</p><p>In the mid-spring, some 27 summers prior to his visit with Keteghoa’s captain, the stringy, well-dressed merchant’s son stood, idly chewing on a rollanberry candy at his father’s stall in the Jeweled Crozier as he always did: watching the other merchants vie for the attentions of the ‘lords’n ladies’ of Ishgard.</p><p>Despite the ever-present war, the well-to-do patrons seemed to float without a care, like preening moths dressed in fabrics of every hue, hungrily seeking to tear into only the finest goods and hottest fashion that reddened blue-blooded cheeks.</p><p>“Stop daydreaming and pay attention, boy,” his father’s biting tone shore the youth’s attention from the crowd and to two bejeweled patrons seeking to add a few more glittering pieces to their weighty collection.</p><p>It was his father’s skillful jewel-craft and metallurgy that not only earned them a place above their peers in the slums of the South Shroud, but won them a shop in Ishgards’s most prestigious markets. Everyone who was anyone had a Jeanne Paul de Oleander piece in their jewelry cabinet, and Simone would some day need to learn his father’sskillful manipulation of metal as well as the minds of frivolous nobility if he was to step into those massive, economically-soled shoes.</p><p>Simone took in the show as if his father were a magician, spiriting the coins from his audience’s purses and into his coffers with a wave of his hands, having turned hunks of metal and stone into fine-crafted adornments. Simone chewed more carefully as he began scanning the crowd and reaching for another wrapped treat in his pocket when he spotted an older servant with a tiny little well-dressed girl at her side...</p><p>~*~</p><p>“That’s when you spotted her?” Altan asked with a child like wonder in his eyes. Simone stifled a chuckle at the sizable xaela’s blushing cheeks and twitching tail before continuing.</p><p>“Yes, I remember choking on my candy and nearly breaking the spell father had on his patrons. I made myself scarce pretty quickly and headed over Mel and Helene, her nanny at the time. The look Mel gave me was —“</p><p>“One of blushing interest? Girlish glee?” Altan blurted.</p><p>“Disgust and confusion over an icky boy coming over to talk to her — who’s telling this story?” Simone chided with a small laugh at Altan’s puppy-like recoil.</p><p>“S-Sorry, please continue.”</p><p>“Anyway, I strode up and just as I was about to practice the greeting father taught me, Mel cuts me off and asks, and I quote ‘why are you so black?’”</p><p>“WHAT?!” Altan boomed as he immediately covered his mouth. While skin tone meant very little on the Steppe, Altan’s research into Elezen cultures enlightened him to all manner of customs, courtesies and things never to ask or utter.</p><p>“Oh yes, poor old Helene lost ten years off her life, Halone bless her. It was something I’d been asked before by other Ishgardian children unused to having a duskwight around so I just explained like I usually did. Poor old Helene...” Simone trailed off and hung his head with a little sad laugh. “The funny part was I thought I’d offended Mel somehow, so I reached in my pocket and offered her a fist full of candies. That got her smiling, at least.”</p><p>“Wow...and then?” Altan asked, mind still dazed from the prior galling question.</p><p>“She gobbled them up like a hungry hog; never seen anything like it, especially not from a noble little lady. I remember kind of gawking a bit before trying to introduce myself. Helene looked fit to pop when she insisted ‘Lady Amelia’ remain in the spot when she went to father’s stall to apologize. She came back with the necklace—“</p><p>“The Oleander flower pendant?”</p><p>“The same, Yes.”</p><p>“But I thought that was your mother’s; in the book you gave it to her as a token of your love later on...” Altan mused.</p><p>“Makes for great romance, but no. Old Helene bought it to apologize for Mel’s insult and ill manners. Still, when father and mother passed and I had to sell everything to clear the business debts...seeing the necklace on Mel did give me some solace. When I told her about it she made it a point to wear it, she even waited whenever she had it cleaned as not to let it out of her sight,” Simone spoke with a warm distant shine in his eyes.</p><p>“I see...I like that version better, I’m wondering why she changed that detail...”</p><p>“Who knows, but that was the actual first time we met; the next time was that awful day in the Brume...”</p><p>---</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Night in the Brume</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>Snow blanketed the dusty, moonlit lanes where orphans, the impoverished, and the few finer-dressed folk who dared travel in the Brume found themselves equally chilled. The occasional tiny blot of warmth from rubbish fires might as well have been malms away to the duskwight child, shunned and shivering beneath a tattered, thread-bare old table cloth.</p><p>The lad’s hollow, hope-bereft eyes had seen so much in the span of his ninth summer. One season he was dutiful helping his Father prepare for a new line of fine-crafted pendants; one horrible epidemic later, the naive child gave a prince’s ransom to unsavory men, hoping burying his parents with dignity only to have them ditched in a pauper’s grave. What little remained of his birthright went to providing commission refunds and settling business debts. With no family or funds to his name, Simone de Oleander was swept into the Brume.</p><p>Simone tried to focus on his wet breathing, which escaped clouded and warm into the icy air. His thin muscles, plague-addled lungs and the very marrow of his bones ached from the sunken temperature. He occasionally found the strength to lift his eyes to utter a tiny plea to passers by. The most he ever got was a knot of stale bread that had strayed in his path, fighting a flock of fattened birds for the morsel.</p><p>But this night would be savored, even if it would be his last, his starved mind fuzzily declared. Simone managed a small, crack-lipped smile as he remembered this same occasion held the previous winter. He mother looked so silly in her favorite feather hat and floral-print frock. Father didn’t seem to mind the way the fabric lay across her chest as his shining eyes always seemed to rest upon her bosom. It was the one day a year his parents seemed to let their hair and ambitions down.</p><p>There was a great feast as well. His stomach cried out at the memory of roast dodo and candied popotos, hastily and thoughtlessly consumed before the main course: a double chocolate and rollanberry-cream cake with little flowers made of frosting. The image was enough to bring tears to his wind-whipped cheeks. All that remained of that special night was the one thing that couldn’t be taken by mortal means.</p><p>Simone lifted his head and as sure as the ground beneath him, there it was. Beside the distant red orb called Dalamud was a great and glorious silver crescent moon. Every year it came, and not a single cloud dared drift into its path. Simone lowered his head and began to pray.</p><p>“Halone, shield and spear, keep your son ever near. Protect him from the horde and make him a sword so he may live to see another year.” Simone’s voice sounded quiet and hollow, not even able to wake a sleeping man only a step or two away. His eyelids grew heavy as he barely had the energy to shiver any longer. Cocooning himself in the tablecloth, Simone rested his head against a small pile of refuse and let the night claim him regardless if he would have strength left to wake to the coming day.</p><p>~*~</p><p>“Oh come now, don’t look at me like that...” Simone soothed Altan, who looked as if tears would gush from his shining gold eyes at any moment. “I’m more than fine now...wasn’t that in the book?”</p><p>“Yes of course it was but not THAT descriptive! There was only a paragraph on it — two at most. But why did no one help you? How could your father’s friends let that happen?! Your family?” Altan asked with a slight creak in his voice. As poor as his own family was, Altan’s meddling uncles and fans of his father’s home-brews never let them fall so far. Simone shrugged.</p><p>“You assume father had friends. Business associates and alliances yes, but father was...a difficult man. Mother always told me that she admired him for it, like one might admire a thunderstorm or tidal wave, I guess. So long as you weren’t in his path...” Simone stifled a memory and a flinch. Altan slowly nodded, perceiving Simone’s words but not providing any further voice to the potentially thorny thought. Altan wiped his eyes.</p><p>“As for family, you assume we still had any on speaking terms after we ‘betrayed the tribe’ to trade and live with wildwood foreigners...sure Antoinette helped us later on but short of the miracle that was finding her, I had nobody...” Simone trailed off. An uncomfortable silence began to settle between them until Altan saw fit to get the conversation moving again.</p><p>“B-But you did wake the next day and found that Amelia had been lured into the Brume and was crying out for help while being chased by urchins looking to steal her purse?” Altan asked, causing a rare look of blatant disgust and anger to come to Simone’s usually gentle features.</p><p>“...not quite.”</p><p>---</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Back to the Wall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>The starving child opened his eyes to find he had returned to the waking world, albeit a fuzzy, muddled one. It was the first day of his tenth year, or eleventh, his mind couldn’t quite pin down the number as the moments and reality around him began to slip in and out of focus. His stomach didn’t seem to even be bothered to let those who passed with averted gazes know that it along with the nearby alms bowl was empty.</p><p>Simone listlessly turned his head at some distant, fuzzy sound which quickly grew louder if not closer to his hearing. The sounds of hurried well-heeled steps, boys shouting, and girlish screaming for help brought his consciousness back to the fore as what looked like a stream of long, ruddy ringlets turned his head in a new direction. Following in the well-dressed girl’s wake were three boys whose clothing would have fetched enough gil to fill his belly to bursting for a season at least.</p><p>“Get away from me you stink-arsed gremlins!” The girl shouted with a mix of bravado and fear in her voice as she turned a corner into an alley Simone knew to be a dead end. He might not have been compelled to rise from the stagnant squalor in which he sat, had it not been for the flash of real steel in one of the boy’s hands catching in his dull eyes.</p><p>Suddenly all of it, the sights, smells, sounds and screams came into vivid focus, as Simone forced himself up to stand. Nearly tripping over his own too-big feet, he shambled as quickly as he could, peeking from beyond a large box in the alley to witness the scene: a tiny girl with red ringlets for hair, more doll-like than flesh, stood with her back to a stone wall.</p><p>Leering over her was a taller Elezen boy with tanned skin, blond hair and clear malice in his smirking lips. The young man wiped his cheek with the back of his gloved hand; Simone couldn’t see but the well-dressed son of nobility cursed and raised his pocket knife with a “cut ME will you, you Fortemps trash?” loud enough for Simone to catch.</p><p>He watched as the young girl, driven either by madness or Halone-blessed bravery, spat in the boy’s face.</p><p>“I’d rather be a unicorn than a big stupid rock-head!” She retorted with all the wit and sass her eight summers of practice could bring to bear, earning her gawping looks of horror from the ‘lackeys’ in the group of boys. Thats when the knife came forward, narrowly missing her ear and sending one of her carefully crafted curls to the ground. And then it came, bursting from the depths of a resolve no hunger could ravage.</p><p>“HEY YOU!” Simone blurted, arms and legs trembling, barely able to keep him standing let alone move, as he forcedhimself into the alley with all his might. “Yeah you, you like scaring little girls with knives? Make you feel big does it? Bloody craven!”</p><p>The lad turned, ready to have a go at whoever dared speak to a son of the greatest house of Ishgard with such brazen disrespect, until what he saw gave him pause. There, standing at least head and shoulders above the tallest among the gaggle was a gangly specter in the young bully’s sight. The supposed shadow-made-flesh looked to them with hollow, dead eyes, its gaunt face the stuff of nightmares, matted, white-grey hair clinging to its face and neck like an unholy shroud.</p><p>“D-Do you know who I am?” the boy with the knife asked with the weapon now turned on Simone. Simone slowly shook his head.</p><p>“A bully and a craven. Leave her alone and deal with me, man to man,” Simone spoke the hollow threat, boney fingers that had never struck another living creature balling into loose fists. He stood straighter, in an attempt to steady himself, not perceiving the fear the act evoked from the group of children now set to bolt from the alley like mice before a cat.</p><p>“Go on, fight him! Bet he makes you bleed and takes your liver for his supper,” the little girl chided, seemingly forgetting her own plight. She smirked as one by one, the boys having weighed options, fled the alley with all speed. The boy with the knife, bereft of his entourage and having lost the upper hand, begrudgingly followed.</p><p>Simone found whatever divine force that propelled him promptly leave as he sank to his hands and knees, panting and struggling to stay conscious. He could hear the faint sound of adults shouting and the chimes of knightly chain mail drawing closer.</p><p>Simone could make out a muffled girlish voice addressing him but none of the words came through. His senses dulled once more, he didn’t hear the quick steps coming from behind. The girl’s panicked scream quickly overtook all else before the worst pain Simone had never known was swiftly and mercilessly carved into his back...</p><p>---</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cutting Room</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>“Why?” was the only thing Altan could manage to growl through his clinched jaw. The words Simone spoke seemed like so many stinging wespes in the Xaela’s horns, the honeyed tone in which they were told did little to stem the venomous emotions plain on Altan’s face. “As if the poor don’t suffer enough indignity.”</p><p>Simone shrugged, a few possible answers coming to mind though he struggled to choose which would satisfy the seething, righteously indignant captain and avoid being swarmed by any rage that might mistake a response for an excuse. He crossed his arms and looked to the wall.</p><p>“Not sure— probably to avoid trouble with publishing and selling it. Not to mention the libel actions that could have been lobbed at us from the high houses...aimed at a pair of run-aways living by the mercy of others with a hungry newborn and no way to fight back. Like it or not, the book is most popular in richer nations, Ishgard and her aristocracy included despite the clergy banning it as ‘salacious heretical slander.’ Wouldn’t do to shine a bad light on the lordly class, I suppose.”</p><p>“So that makes it fine to cast that light on nameless urchins who couldn’t protest the depiction? She could have been writing about any unfortunate child, someone like m-you! I...it wouldn’t have been as bad if it were the truth but, it’s just not—“</p><p>“Fair?” Simone looked at him with an intense look and disapproving frown, often used on his sons whenever they spoke out of turn. Altan’s expression in its wake was not dissimilar to the sheepish pouts and shameful, downturned gazes managed by Simone’s youngest trouble-making child.</p><p>“Right, it’s not right,” Altan spike with a muted, small voice. Simone sighed, lips turning to a small and slightly bitter smile.</p><p>“Of course it isn’t, but it is what it is. I’d have liked to have seen to those little shites myself, or at least have them punished the proper way. But that lot had gotten away with much, much worse offenses later in life than bullying a little rich girl and stabbing some ‘gutter trash’ in the Brume. Imagine having to bow to them as your betters at every function, watching as they took Amelia’s hand in civil greeting, smiling and all but wiping their arses knowing full well what they did and having that burden on your back for the rest of your life...” Simone paused, taking his turn to wear a look of shock and shame. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No need, I asked for the truth and I shouldn’t be judging Lady Amelia for what she chose — had to write,” Altan sighed, clutching the leather bound book to his chest a moment. “As a writer who is free to put whatever he wants to his page...it’s disheartening to know my favorite author couldn’t do the same.”</p><p>“For what it’s worth, the book seems to have genuinely touched you and for that I’m glad. Mel would be too. Do you mind if I ask what a um, military man like yourself sees in such a...maiden-targeted book?” Simone spoke with a cautious curiosity in his voice. Altan softly smiled and looked to the book in his grasp.</p><p>“It’s nice to think that love stories can have happy endings in real life. That the poor boy can get the rich girl and they can make it together, in spite of...everything. At least that part was true, right?” Altan spoke as if giving a reluctant confession. Simone nodded with a sweetened smile.</p><p>“Yes, that part is true, but if you think we look longingly into one another’s eyes in the moonlight, whispering honeyed words after 13 years of marriage and two darling little gremlins, you’re too far gone I’m afraid,” Simone quipped causing both men in the small space to share a warm laugh. “So, ‘Romance scholar’, what comes next?” Simone asked with one last little laugh passing his lips. Altan consulted the next chapter before responding.</p><p>“Let’s see, that’d be the chapter in the Temple Knights infirmary. At lady Amelia’s plea the Temple Knights rushed you there and that’s when you met her father for the first time...” Altan spoke as Simone shifted in his seat in thought. As the recollection came, a look of soft relief and a genuine smile came to his face.</p><p>“Ah, so she made that change after all...” Simone mused, earning him a confused look from Altan. “Oh, there was one big change I asked her to make while she was putting the book together. Mel was really against it; I just assumed she kept it as is. I wasn’t taken to any Temple Knight infirmary, it was the House Fortemps Knights that brought us back to the manor,” Simone smiled as the sound of an increasingly wagging tail hitting the bed linens spurred him on despite his quieting tone. Altan blushed slightly and the sound stopped.</p><p>“Her father wasn’t the one waiting for us. He was probably out with his mistress; no it was a noble man embroiled in a terrible scandal at the time and certainly didn’t need me on his plate. Halone bless him, I had the best field chirurgeons working on me on his word. I asked Mel to take him out as much as possible to...spare any further insult or shame the story might bring,” Simone sighed. Altan was nearly at the edge of the bed with bated breath.</p><p>“Well out with it, man!” Altan demanded. Simone smiled as a look of nostalgic and child-like love came to his face.</p><p>“The man I named my first son after, Lord Edmont.”</p><p>---</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Sweet Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>Simone could hear humming in the darkness, the muffled sound of clicking heels and voices softly whispering beyond his blackened senses. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked to clear away the remaining fuzziness in his sight as things slowly came into focus. Instead of the cold, grey Brume his surroundings were filled to the brim with ornate furnishings and rare flowers within dazzling vases. Gentle light streamed in through curtains whose patterns spilled onto the polished marble floor.</p><p>Simone weakly clutched the sheets beneath his stomach, the sensation of the dirty tablecloth replaced with feather-soft linen of which he’d never seen, let alone touched. A tightness in his chest and stomach along with the urge to scratch what felt like a billion little chigoes crawling along his back caused a small grunt to escape his lips and travel right into the hearing of those just beyond his sickbed.</p><p>“Ah, finally awake,” one of the two men, a hyur dressed in a chirurgeon’s uniform flatly commented as he glanced at what appeared to be sloppily scrawled notes before giving a more energetic expression to the Elezen gentlemen who seemingly appeared beside him. “My Lord!”</p><p>“At ease,” the Elezen raised his hand to gently silence the man before turning his gaze to the boy in the bed and softly asking, “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Simone froze. His mind scrambled to find the correct way to respond to the gentleman, dressed in the finest clothing Ishgard could muster, his handsome face as pale as untouched snow and his long, ebon hair treated with perfumed oils. Simone’s gaze darted from the man’s chest to his lavish, finely-carved cane with an ornate unicorn on the pommel before hitting the floor.</p><p>“I-I’m...itchy, and a bit dizzy er — but better, m-my Lord,” Simone winced at the sound of his own blunt words and crackly voice. He clinched his eyes shut, awaiting the inevitable reprimand for his discourteous tone.</p><p>“You don’t look better!” A girl’s voice came bellowing from the door before the girl it belonged to tucked out of sight. The finely-dressed man scowled at the empty door frame.</p><p>“Amelia de Fortemps. In here. Now,” the Elezen lord sternly spoke, causing a small rustling to come from just beyond the door. A moment later, a curly-haired little lady shuffled in to a quick stop beside the bed, her big blue eyes coming to rest on Simone’s bandaged midsection. “What you said was very rude, especially to someone who was injured on your behalf. Apologize.”</p><p>Amelia looked up to the much taller Lord with not so much as a blink before turning her defiant eyes to the battered, stabbed, and starving boy in her perceptive sight.</p><p>“Yes uncle Edmont, I’m ever so sorry...” she started with a cherubic voice as her lips twisted into a devilish smirk, “but it’s true — I could see your innards and everything, it was dreadful...sorry you got hurt for me,” she whispered. Before the Lord of House Fortemps could decide whether that was a glib joke worthy of a sound spanking or a genuine apology, a small chuckle from the bed gave the fine-dressed man pause.</p><p>“Sorry, my lady. I’ll try to keep my innards to myself from now on...” Simone spoke with a small cough, eyes containing more ease than fear.</p><p>“You were really scary; I think one of them pee’d a little. It was so wicked!” Amelia informed, ever watching the man at her side out of the corner of her eye.</p><p>“I’m sorry, did I scare you? Didn’t mean to —“</p><p>“Enough,” Lord Edmont interrupted and gently nudged his antagonizing niece away, “Get back to your governess and we’ll have a chat about your manners later.”</p><p>“Yes uncle Edmont,” Amelia sighed and gave the stricken boy one last look before placing a small something beside Simone’s right hand and skipping out the door, back into the seething company of her thrice-duped governess. Edmont smiled and knelt beside the bed, which caused the chirurgeon to almost do a full double-take. The two Elezen moved to spy the little trifle Amelia left, bringing a smile to the elder’s face.</p><p>“A Rollanberry candy. You must have left an impression if she was willing to part with one, though I’m sure you’d prefer a more substantial meal,” Edmont spoke in an assertive but questioning tone. Simone quietly nodded. “I’m Edmont; what’s your name?”</p><p>“S-Simone, my lord.”</p><p>“Well Simone, you’ve done House Fortemps a great service, and as head of my house I am in a position to grant you a boon in return for your valiant deed. Name your wish and I shall see it done,” Edmont asserted, mind working out the processes for procuring a room full of candied meats and ceiling-high puddings, or perhaps a comedically over-sized bag of gold. What came from Simone’s mouth sparked surprise in his scattered thoughts.</p><p>“Work, my lord. If I could, I want to work...and um maybe some bread and jam?” Simone meekly requested, his expression turned from hope to guilt as the pair of Elezen cautiously regarded one another for a moment.</p><p>“Surely a lad your age should be at home with his kin, playing and learning his letters, unless said lad has neither...” Edmont sighed slightly, he needed no response with the message clearly conveyed in Simone’s saddened eyes. Edmont gave a firm nod and rose.</p><p>“Well then, if it is work you desire, you shall have it. It so happens that a house boy position has just opened up. Once you’re back on your feet, you are to report to the house steward and he will brief you on your duties,” Edmont turned away with a small smile as Simone’s eyes welled up with tears.</p><p>His lip began to quake and any words of gratitude that might have sprung up, drowned in his dry throat. Edmont knowingly avoided Simone’s gaze as he instructed the chirurgeon to hasten his new servant’s recovery before exiting and leaving the trembling child to taste a little token of sweetness in his otherwise bitter existence.</p><p>---</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Time for Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>“So, wait — you didn’t work in Lord Raimond’s estate then, as her attendant?” Altan questioned, earning him a small smile and a confirming head-shake.</p><p>“Halone forfend, no. Though with how much time we spent together, you couldn’t blame the rumor-mongers. No, she had her governess and maid. I served as Lord Edmont’s page, taking what little free time I had to practice my letters or study with the cooks, y’know once I learned to dodge flying utensils,” Simone paused as fond memories of the late head chef’s twitching mustache and spittle-laden curses when the man finally caved and allowed the illustrious young duskwight to become an understudy came to mind.</p><p>“Still, with her father always ‘away on business’ and her...lovely mother constantly pickling herself with wine, Mel visited a lot, well that was until Haurchefant came along...”</p><p>“Yes, you mentioned some kind of scandal?” Altan asked with a curious kink in his tail.</p><p>“Yes, when Lord Edmont took me in, it was all hush-hush, rumor and such, but when the baby was born and he chose to take responsibility, all hells broke loose,” Simone’s words caught in his throat. He looked almost fearfully to the man in his company, someone he didn’t really know, someone who he caught himself all but confessing to. Simone cleared his throat.</p><p>“Needless to say, things were tense and I didn’t see Mel much after that. It was a few years until things settled that we were able to see each other again and by that time we um, both started noticing some changes in one another...but um, yes life as a page was never dull, especially when listening to house knights trade stories,” Simone offered, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the private memory, which he dared not give voice...</p><p>~*~</p><p>The grandfather chronometer’s dreary rhythm seemed to drone on in the small but well-decorated office. The man sitting behind the old, sturdy desk buried in expense reports and unbalanced ledgers wore the face of one who’d seen three lifetimes worth of strife.</p><p>His typically kind eyes, devoid of good humor, stared blankly at the paper piles which would have been rustling with progress had they hit the count’s desk a fortnight prior to the news. He let his passions get the better of him, regardless of what motivated the act: love, desire, or release — the result was the same.</p><p>If it were he alone bearing the brunt of the looks and biting words, he could easily endure, but the names on everyone’s lips were that of his wife and true-born son, of the maid who bore the fruit of his act and worst of all, the innocent child who would endure a lifetime of shame-filled torment because of him...a gentle knock at the door jarred him from his brooding thoughts.</p><p>“Come in,” Lord Edmont curtly managed, bringing a hand up to rub the ridge of his nose. The door opened bringing in the sound of the slightly shaking silver spoons meeting a metal tray and the cautious young man carrying it. Edmont raised a brow at the sight of the stringy boy as he stiffly passed though the threshold with a soft “Good evening, my Lord.”</p><p>“Simone, lad you should be in bed. Where is Firmien?” Lord Edmont asked with a more suspicious tone than he intended. He frowned slightly at Simone’s lowered gaze as the merchant’s-son-turned-page brought the tea tray over to a side table to start prepping the evening meal.</p><p>“I’m sORrY, my LoRd,” Simone put a hand to his mouth before coughing in a desperate attempt to smooth out his squeaking voice before continuing, “he had an enerGENcy come up and I offered to hELp bring your tEA...”</p><p>Edmont watched as the young man moved with measured effort to conduct the routine the house steward prescribed for presenting tea. It was then Edmont spied the ill-fitting top, too-short chausses, and scabbed-over rub-wounds on the back of Simone’s ankles with a grunt.</p><p>“I thought we ordered you a new uniform,” Edmont commented, bringing his gaze back to his neglected work. Simone flinched.</p><p>“Yes my Lord...M-Mr. Firmien said it’s becAUse I’m a ‘spring wEEd?’ And that’s why it’s um...” Simone sighed as he tried to move his arm to gingerly place a perfectly crafted fish pastry on a pristine plate without busting his shoulder seam.</p><p>“That won’t do, I’ll have you measured and a new one ordered,” Edmont nodded as he started to get back into the swing of his evening work. Simone’s heart sunk slightly as he placed three spoons imported lemon extract and one cube of sugar into the rich black tea.</p><p>“Thank you my Lord, I’m sORRy for inconveniencing you...” Simone softly spoke before carefully bringing the tea and pastry to his master’s desk.</p><p>“Ordering a new uniform is no inconvenience; what is inconvenient is having a member of my staff constantly injured or encumbered and unable to perform his duties. You are to communicate to your superiors if you’re having an issue from now on, is that clear?” Edmont firmly spoke as he lifted the teacup to his lips allowing the soothing heat and wakening flavor to invigorate his senses. A sniffle brought his gaze to the cowering page.</p><p>“I-I’m sO SOrrY, My LORd, I-I’ll do bettEr...” Simone squeaked and dropped his gaze, but not enough to allow the wetness in his eyes to spill over. Edmont lowered his cup and gave the trembling youngster his unvarnished attention.</p><p>“Was I so ungentle?” Edmont gave a small sigh. Whether it was his current troubles, required etiquette when dealing with staff, or the child’s acute sensitivities that sharpened his words, he did not know. “Come now, tears are unbecoming of a servant, let alone a house-hero such as yourself.”</p><p>“H-Hero?” Simone sniffled with hope and not a small amount of confusion in his tone. He lifted his gaze to find gentler eyes looking to his cowering form with a sincere smile.</p><p>“Yes of course — the hero of the Brume, the strapping youth who risked his life to save an imperiled damsel; I hear the house knights talking about it often,” Edmont informed with a smile and hope that his little lie would go undetected, the sweetened words bringing a bashful smile to Simone’s flushed face.</p><p>“T-TruLY?! ThanK you my Lord, it honors me thAHt you think such of me...” Simone paused, uncertain for what he was about to say was too forward, but emboldened by Edmont’s display of confidence, Simone managed to find some of his own.</p><p>“...for what it’s worth I-I think they’re wROng about you, what they say; I hEAr the whispers and, and I want to say something b-but — you’re a very g-gOOd man, and-and at least I think, know so, m-my Lord. They don’t and are worse fOr it,” Simone closed his eyes and used what was left of his resolve to give an affirming nod to the man he’d come to see as a second father. A moment of stunned silence with only the ticking chronometer to set the pace was all it took to make the youth want to flee the office and hide under his cot.</p><p>“Thank you, it’s worth more than you know...any road it is very late and you should be in bed. No more extra work until your new uniform arrives; consider it a paid holiday for exemplary service,” Edmont declared, raising a hand to suppress any protest, “that was not a request, now off with you.”</p><p>Simone stood as straight as his garb would allow and gave a proper bow before grabbing the tea tray and heading for the exit. As the door closed and the tea cooled to a more tolerable temperature, Count Edmont set about approving funds for Knights’ arms, manor wall repairs, and one crisp new uniform.</p><p>---</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Anything Alley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>---</p><p>“So I must ask, if you two had such separation, how in Azim’s name did you even find the time to— er get so well acquainted?” Altan cautiously asked as the nurse entered the cubicle with two large mugs of herbal tea, one bowl of meaty stew and a vial of bitter medicine.</p><p>The hyuran woman apologized for the interruption but insisted that the dose be administered promptly, lest the treatment fail and her patient suffer a relapse. Simone accepted the mug of tea and lingering smile from the nurse before taking a sip of the soothing brew.</p><p>“Mmm, minty...let me think — ah, that’s right, we used to meet up at ‘Anything Alley’ when we could and left correspondence with Ser Gregoire when we couldn’t,” Simone smiled as the vision of the dusty, rubbish-laden space in the Jeweled Crozier came to mind with a nostalgic warmth. Altan gave him a clueless look.</p><p>“‘Anything Alley?’ No mention of that place in the story. But I suppose the scenes in the garden...” Altan mused, flipping to a section in the center of the book. Simone shook his head and took another sip.</p><p>“Garden? Oh heavens no, I wouldn’t have been allowed back there at all, let alone with Mel unchaperoned. No, we had another place to go whenever she needed a break from her mother...” Simone’s gaze moved to rest on the lightly steaming tea, scrying the memory of that time, which came back to him with warming clarity.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Simone grasped the little note in his loose-gloved grasp as his fingers began to sweat. He’d drawn the short straw among the House Fortemps manor boys and so it fell to him to make the trip to the ‘other’ manor to deliver a message regarding an upcoming name-day dinner party to be held in little lord Atoirel’s honor.</p><p>Simone had been there a few times before, each time the screams grew louder, the insults more blush-inducing, and one time a flying tea spoon nearly nicked his cheek during an excursion. If anyone in Ishgard embodied ‘the fury’ it was Lady Joslin de Fortemps.</p><p>The cage-like iron fence that surrounded the well-kept property loomed over him like a row of menacing spears. As he crossed the threshold and proceeded to the main entrance, the knight who stood guard gave Simone a nod but held his hand to stop the page’s progression. The knight looked behind him a moment and quietly beckoned the boy to come within whispering distance.</p><p>“Good Morning, Ser Gregoire. I hAVe a letter for the lord and lAEdy of the house from the countess...” Simone whispered and held up the letter as a crash from inside nearly sent him flying out of his over-sized thigh-high boots. The knight gave him a wide eyed look and extended his gauntlet-protected hand.</p><p>“Best not wait f’the Steward, lad. Leave th’letter wiv me. I’ll see it get in th’right ‘ands,” Ser Gregoire whispered casting a fearful glance at the door behind him as the muffled sound of curses reached their hearing. Simone hesitated, as Firmien plainly instructed never to leave correspondence with anyone other than a member of the in-house staff. But the sounds of rage and crashing silver compelled Simone to place the little letter in Gregoire’s grasp.</p><p>Simone gave a quick bow, pulled up the sleeve that fell over his hand, and made his way back towards the exit with all speed. A long-trapped breath escaped Simone’s lips as a trembling hand reached to rest on his pounding chest. Weary eyes rested on the tips of his boots as small little pebbles began rolling in their path, a few striking the soles with a ‘tap, tap!’”</p><p>It was then Simone’s long ears picked up the subtle sounds of whispers coming from the direction of the pebble projectiles. He turned to see what looked like a small common boy, clutching an over-sized messenger bag and ducked behind the corner of one of the stone fence bases. Despite the concealing hat and baggy clothes, Simone knew those freckled cheeks and big blue eyes, and was sure auburn curls would spill forth from beneath that hat should he dare remove it.</p><p>“LAE-DEE A-MEAL-lia?” Simone coughed. Amelia held a finger to her pouty lips before beckoning the servant to her side.</p><p>“Not so loud, get over here!” Amelia’s girlish voice commanded from the otherwise convincing disguise. Simone moved to obey.</p><p>“Lady Amelia —“</p><p>“Mel, call me Mel.”</p><p>“Lady — err ‘Mel’ what are you dOINg here, dressed up like that?” Simone quietly asked as Amelia cast a hate-filled look towards the manor.</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>“Fine, but how—“</p><p>“I have my ways and the help is distracted at the moment. C’mon we got to go before mum calms down and Helene catches me. I’ll explain on the way,” Amelia gruffly instructed before turning and quickly walking toward the Jeweled Crosier. Simone did his best to focus on the chattering little form leading him through the shades from his younger days, past the stalls that used to neighbor his father’s, past the little apartment he used to call home. He paused in front of the little window he used to dream behind as a small hand grasped his own, nearly pulling his glove off.</p><p>Amelia all but dragged the perceived daydreaming page the rest of the way to her little hiding spot. The alley was a secluded space where the merchants could dispose of their broken wares and other refuse, which was piled high enough to hide two youngsters in need of privacy. Amelia sighed as a small smile came to her previously pouty lips. She extended her arms in a spin and proclaimed “Welcome to Anything Alley.”</p><p>“Anything Alley? This is the merchant dump, my LAE-DEe,” Simone coughed in frustration.</p><p>“It’s Mel. And no, it’s Anything Alley; you can do anything you want here: burp, toot, curse, slouch, eat a whole bag of candy, anything you bloody well want. Anything they won’t let you do,” Amelia asserted as she pulled out a small pouch from her side bag, full of rollanberry candy. She opened it and extended the treats to her companion “Go on, I won’t tell.”</p><p>Simone hesitated before doing what he was told. He looked to the little candy for a moment as the sounds and smells of the market overwhelmed him. A wetness from saddened eyes spilled over onto the brim of Simone’s clean-pressed uniform.</p><p>“What’s wrong, why are you—“</p><p>“I’m sORRy I-I should go, Firmien will wONder where I am,” Simone let out a small sob as he lifted a sleeve in a desperate attempt to stem the tide of tears.</p><p>“No, no don’t go, you can’t. I-I...” Amelia donned a rare, sheepish look before reaching out to grab Simone’s free hand, “I saw you coming from the manor and I got really excited. I wanted to see you and I know we can’t usually. Please don’t be sad, I didn’t mean it, really. I thought you liked rollanberry,” Amelia pouted, her words causing a small laugh to break through the tears.</p><p>“You didn’t do anything, it’s just — I haven’t bEEn here since my parents died, s-so...” Simone informed between sniffles. Amelia squeezed his hand.</p><p>“I didn’t know. I thought you were from the Brume. There was this cute duskwight boy who gave me candy when I was really little. Got me hooked for life; was-was that you?” Amelia coyly smiled.</p><p>“P-Probably. There was this really cute little girl I saw once and I gave her some candy. She was REALLY rude for a lady ate it all in one go, she did,” Simone’s loosening tone brought a grin to his companion’s face.</p><p>“That’s me alright. But I was really little...how many do you think I can fit in my mouth at once now?” Amelia rustled the bag as the last of Simone’s tears fell into the past as a more current quandary presented itself. He couldn’t contain the smirk that found its way to his lips.</p><p>“Your mouth? Twenty. Bet I can fit more though...”</p><p>“YOU’RE ON! Loser buys the winner a fresh bag!” Amelia beamed in delight as the pair began shoveling sweets into their mouths, laughing and forgetting their cares, and whatever awaited them beyond what would become their refuse-laden sanctuary.</p><p>---</p>
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